


Us

by Standinginmoonlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Sad Harry, healing Draco, they love each other okay?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6431275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Standinginmoonlight/pseuds/Standinginmoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It confuses Harry but his nerve endings feel like they're alight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Us

**Author's Note:**

> This is something quickly scribbled down in my writing notebook. I'm a big fan of Draco healing Harry, you can probably tell that by now.
> 
> Warnings: there's some self-harm insinuated but there's no detail about it, symptoms of PTSD from poor Harry.

Harry laughs like he doesn’t know how it fits in his mouth anymore. He laughs because he feels like he has to. It feels as though the war has left a gaping hole in everything that Harry knows.

At first it doesn't sound like a laugh. It's a mixture between a shout and a dry sob that is trapped in his throat. It sounds bitter, as though it's burning the inside of his mouth as he spits it out like mouthwash, and no-one knows what to do. Hermione thinks that it sounds like Harry is breaking from the inside out but he just smiles blankly and tells her that he's fine. Hermione has known for a long time that Harry is heading for a breakdown but he doesn’t listen. Smiles blankly. Laughs until it hurts his throat.

He laughs at every joke as if it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. He takes the time to really listen to Ron's rambling stories about George's inventions at the shop (he tries to ignore the searing hurt that replaces his heart at the mention of George without Fred) and barks loudly at Ron's dry comments. He tries to laugh as though he's enjoying his life again even though he has no life to enjoy. Not really. His life has dissolved into a cycle of eating, sleeping, waking, holding back tears when he remembers what has happened.

He laughs as if his life depends on it and really, his life does depend on it. If Harry stops laughing, he fears that the black fist holding onto his heart will slip around his throat and he might just lose the grip he has on reality. 

He's with Ron and Hermione at another wizarding restaurant where the waiters can't stop their staring and one almost pours a bottle of wine in Harry's lap because he's shaking so fiercely. He half remembers that Hermione is bringing someone from work to the meal and he tries to remember who it is but he can't. So Harry laughs instead, his thick bark that catches in his throat, and he wants to claw the sad look from Hermione's face. 

She asks if he remembers Draco Malfoy and his blood spikes. It's not a question, he realises, it’s more of a command, because Malfoy is already seated at the table and he looks paler than Harry ever remembers. The veins on his neck look like bruises under his skin and his cheekbones are sharp. Harry laughs again, it catches again in his dry throat, and he tries not to look at Malfoy too much.

He fails, of course. Malfoy looks as terrible as Harry feels. Harry was right - he definitely wasn't that pale last time he'd seen him and he wasn't that thin during the war. 

Ah. The war. That old chestnut. Everything slams into Harry's chest all at once and guilt prickles under his skin because he has dared to think of something else for the first time in eighteen months. He knots his fingers together and digs his nails viciously into his knuckles, the skin turns white in his stupid grasp, and the world sinks in on itself. 

Hermione kicks him under the table and she has that look on her face again. That look that says "my poor Harry" and "I wonder if he's ever going to be okay again". Harry knows that question well because he repeats those words like a poisonous mantra that nips at him viciously. He wonders if he's ever going to be okay again. He wonders if he ever wants to be okay again. 

Hermione tells him that Malfoy works with her in the Spell Damage department of St Mungo's as part of his parole. Harry doesn't care. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that Malfoy of all people has his shit together. Harry looks at him again through obsidian eyelashes that flinch every time Malfoy moves. Malfoy breathes in a funny pattern, Harry realises. He inhales for three beats, exhales for two, repeats. His eyes look hooded, as if the world is resting on his shoulders and he hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. Harry knows that look because he models it himself.

Malfoy looks as though all of his ends are loose. Harry's heart skips a beat and he all of a sudden feels so much more alive. His ends are loose too. 

Hermione tells him that Malfoy is a real treasure for the Spell Damage department and Harry forces himself to smile. It's a thin smile that doesn't quite bleed into his eyes but it's a smile regardless and he fights the urge to laugh. He nods, all of his words now molten lava in his head, and Hermione looks at him again.

At the end of the evening when Malfoy has Apparated away, she rests her hands on Harry's balled fists and he knows she's apologising but the blood rushes in his ears too loudly for him to hear. It was too much for him, she stammers with bright eyes, she realises that now. But Harry shakes his head and switches them around so he is squeezing her fists together in his clammy hands. He laughs. He tells her he wants to see Malfoy again. 

They go out again, Ron and Hermione in tow, at another wizarding restaurant but this time Harry doesn't seem to notice the waiters tripping over themselves to serve him. He waits nervously in his seat as something other than inane guilt and hurt floods through his veins. It confuses Harry but his nerve endings feel like they're alight. 

Malfoy arrives and they eat in a comfortable hubbub of Spell Damage departmental gossip and Ron talks about Quidditch with the light in his eyes that Harry is missing. Harry finds himself looking at Malfoy during these conversations, watching his eyes flicker between Ron and Hermione as they talk and Harry notices the little flicks of his tongue as he drinks his red wine. His eyes, Harry realises, have flecks of gold marbling through the grey that shimmer when Malfoy is talking about something he's passionate about and Harry's breath catches when he can see that gold blinking at him. 

Malfoy's laugh is soft. It sounds like it tastes of honey and milk and the more that Harry hears it, the more he wants to be the reason behind the low and vibrating noise. Harry is almost jealous of how Malfoy laughs. His own laugh gets stuck in his throat and sounds like pain. He vows to himself that it’ll change.

He tells Hermione that he wants to see Malfoy on his own, if that is okay with her. Her hands are on his fists again and Hermione's eyes look at him with something other than soul-destroying pity for the first time since the end of the war and he's glad. Harry feels sick at the thought of arranging the dinner so Hermione does it for him and it feels like something important is happening to Harry.

He picks at his knuckles while he waits at the bar of the Muggle restaurant that Hermione has made reservations at. He picks until blood follows his nails and he tries to wipe it away on the black of his trousers. Malfoy might not turn up, he thinks to himself. Not everybody wants damaged goods, he thinks to himself. 

Malfoy notices the bleeding as soon he arrives. A frown pushes his lips down. For a moment that feels like a lifetime, Harry's stomach twists painfully and he thinks that Malfoy doesn't like his tie and this was an awful idea because Malfoy thinks he's stupid. Malfoy is already over the war and Harry isn't. A bitter taste pools on his tongue. Why would Malfoy want to deal with someone who is definitely _not_ over the war?

Harry never wants to make Malfoy frown again. So, when Malfoy picks his hand up and kisses the red marks, he lets him. After that the evening flows into a stream of good red wine and even better conversation. Malfoy understands Harry better than he could ever imagine because he was thrown into a life of uncertainty and terror too, promises of glory still weighing on his shoulders so obviously that Harry could weep. He knows Harry, he realises, because he bothers to read the battered heart on the sleeve of his jacket. 

Harry forgets. He forgets the pain that thuds in his heart. He forgets the ache of curse damage in his left kneecap. He forgets that he's Harry Potter, the boy who doesn't want to live, and he realises that Malfoy might be the one to stick him back together. 

Harry leans in to kiss Malfoy at the end of the night because he never wants to miss a chance with him. Malfoy looks at him with blinking eyes and leans in too, closing the gap between their bodies, and everything seems to hum contentedly as they press together. He touches Harry's bottom lip with the slightest of tongues and they slip together perfectly, warm and wet mouths that feel like they were meant to kiss each other all along. 

Malfoy breaks away but leaves his forehead pressed to Harry's. Harry laughs, a soft laugh that sounds so natural that his eyes fill with tears because who knew that he'd ever laugh that way again? Malfoy looks at Harry's scar, his eyes softening at the angry red ridge that hasn't healed yet, and reaches to run a finger over the marred skin. Without saying a word, Malfoy moves to slip an arm around Harry's waist and he holds him close to his chest, silently telling him that everything is going to be okay and for the first time since the war has ended, Harry believes.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that you enjoyed!


End file.
